


Alice's Adventures in Creative Depression

by CoreyWW



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Angst and Humor, Children's Literature, Dark Comedy, Depression, Fantasizing, Flash Fic, Gen, Giants, Humor, Microfic, References to Depression, Sad, Short, Shorts, Slice of Life, Swearing, Urban Fantasy, Writers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-27 12:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17767112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoreyWW/pseuds/CoreyWW
Summary: Alice, an unpublished children's book author, has adventures trying to be creative despite her depression. And also in spite of the fact all of her children's books are depressingly sad stories that just happen to star cute animals.[Short/flash fiction about creativity and depression. In the Nice Monster's universe, but the fantasy elements of that universe are not the focus in this.]





	1. This is Alice

**Author's Note:**

> Alice is an original character I created in my "Nice Monster" universe, which is a forthcoming series that takes place in a world where monsters exist in the normal world and its just a mundane fact ([Here is an older defunct version of that story for those interested.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955063/chapters/34655055#workskin) [And a newer, also defunct but better of that story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16254764/chapters/38004812) that actually includes entire parts I intend to reuse when the new version comes out. Both versions share characters that will appear in the new story and in this universe, though).
> 
> However, I had a lot of ideas involving Alice just dealing with creativity and depression that didn't really fit as a focus of that story. In fact, most of these will barely include supernatural elements at all. Many of the entries in this series will be shorter than even this first fiction, as a lot of the backlog I have for the idea is very short flash fiction. But hopefully this will ring true to people or, at the very least, you'll get the idea why I got so attached to this particular character.
> 
> It's worth noting that while there is dark humor in this series, I don't want to imply I'm making light of depression. It is a serious problem and, if you're going through it, know that its okay to ask for support from those around you. Even though I use dark humor as a coping mechanism for my own anxiety and depression, I never want to give the sense that I'm dismissing it as an actual problem.
> 
> Okay, now that that's out of the way, let me shut up and write.

Alice worked at a bookstore, but she really considered herself a writer because that was where she put most of her energy.

Sure, she spent the majority of her day behind the register, ringing people up for books on the rare occasion someone wanted to make a purchase. But at night, as soon as she got home to her apartment, she would work on her books.

She liked to write children books. She had literally written hundreds! She worked hard on all of them.

Not a single one had been published.

Alice had certainly tried, but when she sent her work to publishers or agents, she seldom got a reply. The times she did made her feel like she was being fired from a job she never even had.

_“This just isn’t what we’re looking for right now ...”_

_“We regret to inform you that yada yada yada ...”_

_“Please stop submitting this to us or else.”_

Typical rejections.

Alice was never exactly cheerful, so sometimes these rejections took days to recover from. But deep down, Alice knew that in all fairness, her depression often made her many books very ... _counter-culture_ , as she didn’t believe in talking down to children.

Some titles of _actual_ books Alice had written:

  * “Our Lives Are Meaningless! A Child’s Intro to Cheery Nihilism!”
  * “No Sally, the Goldfish Isn’t Sleeping. It’s Dead.”
  * “Hospitals Can’t Fix Everyone”
  * “All Joy In Life Is Impermanent.”
  * “Sometimes I Get Sad For No Reason (And That’s Okay)”



Some of her rejections seemed to convey she could stand to talk down do children _a little_ and that the fact all her stories starred cute animals did little them more palatable.

Alice could see where they were coming from, but that was the only tone she was able to write in.

A while ago, she thought maybe her books weren’t publisher-friendly, but surely there were some children who would appreciate these books! After all, when Alice was little, she would have loved to read things like this. It would have made her feel less alone in thinking the things she did, playing alone by herself as she did often with only bright and cheery books to read that made her feel _more_ alienated.

So she started printing her books herself at the copy shop, at her own expense, and then handing them out to customers with children at her work for free.

(She couldn’t sell them because Neph told her that was not allowed, but that wasn’t a big deal; money didn’t matter much to Alice as long as she had a non-zero amount.)

And the customers would take them, give Alice a smile, and walk out of the bookstore into the food court, where Alice would often find her stapled-together books in the trash can at the end of the day.

Alice would sigh, pick them out of the trash and salvage the unsoiled ones as best she could.

 _At least I’ll save money on copies doing this_ , she’d tell herself.

Then she’d go home, sit at her desk, and, despite not even know why she was still doing this, she’d write more.


	2. Procrastination

Alice went to research things for her current project. Two hours later, she had no research and somehow ended up just watching a video of a puppy riding on top of a full grown dog on a loop.

This was not at all an isolated incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not all chapters will be this short, but some will because I have a lot of ideas for little microfiction like this.


	3. Writing Sample

_“What are you writing?” Timothy Squirrelkins asked Mr. Tittlebottom, sitting at his mole-sized desk in his hole in the ground._

_“Nothing,” Mr. Tittlebottom said, laying down his quill. “I never write anything. I am only a meat puppet for which the disease in my mind flows outward onto the page. You see, for my brain, this body is a cage. A vestigial, festering, infuriating thing. A constant obstacle from the goal of getting burdensome images in my mind outward, into the world, so that they don’t rattle constantly inside. To keep them inside is painful, but having to work to get these things out is also painful, for the mind moves at a breakneck pace while my body is stupid and slow, and like a fool I always try to keep up for I don’t have the freedom not to. It is only in the moment when it is finally released that there is ever the brief hope of joy, such joy that you cannot even fathom. And like mayflies, once that joy comes it is immediately gone, and I must set to work again, a prisoner to the whims of these otherworldly thoughts that propel my quill.”_

* * *

Alice stared enraptured as her customer, a sweet old lady, read the story Alice had given her.

“Do you like it?” Alice beamed.

The old lady blinked.

“What ... age is this story meant for again?”

“Kindergarteners mostly,” Alice said. “You know, five to sixes.”

“Uh ... huh,” the old lady nodded.

“I believe your grandchildren will enjoy that.”

“Yes I’ll um ...” She waved the copy back and forth. “Well, we’ll see.”

“Great! Have a great day ma’am.”

The lady gave a curious glance back as she walked away. Alice kept smiling as a bead a sweat dripped down her forehead.

_Yep, she’s definitely gonna throw that away_ , Alice thought.


	4. Anxiety Daydreams

Alice, piled under her knitted blankets and holding her stuffed childhood bear (The Duke of Bears, because he had a monocle), was having a Bad Day.

When she woke up, her limbs felt weighed down by anchors. Even though everything looked normal, everything _felt_ grey and horrible. Especially her own body, which almost felt covered in some unknown ooze that _everyone_ would notice and judge her for, so it was better she hide away from everyone’s sight.

She knew she should write since it was her day off, but any energy she could muster to do so was gone. Not that it mattered. Everything she wrote was awful anyway. If she didn’t get out of bed, what difference would it make?

_Actually yes, that sounded like a good idea_ , she thought. Alice buried her head under the blankets, squeezing the Duke like a life preserver. _If I don’t get out of bed, at least nothing_ worse _can happen to me._

But as she closed her eyes, her anxiety ridden mind imagined ...

* * *

_The construction worker knocked on the door of Alice’s house, but there was no answer. He shrugged, his yellow helmet bopping ever so slightly._

_“Well, no one’s here. I suppose this has to be the right house being demolished.”_ He turned and yelled upward. “ALRIGHT TYRELL, LET ‘EM HAVE IT!”

_Tyrell, a thirty foot tall giant with craggly, grey leather-like skin, nodded. He wore a yellow construction helmet himself, though his was as wide as a double decker bus to fit his skull._

_Tyrell took a few steps back, shaking the earth. He looked down at his boot, which was steel toed for this exact purpose. He nodded, signally the human construction worker to step far, far away from the house. When he was safe, Tyrell charged forward towards Alice’s home._

**“GET FUCKED, HOUSE!”** _he bellowed as his foot collided into the front wall._

_The house exploded off its foundations with a miniature mushroom cloud of dust and splinters, rocketing through the air only to smash into a hill nearby, obliterating it in a plume of dust._

_“DAMMMMMMMNNNNNN, SON!” the human construction worker said, running up to the giant. “Man, I’m glad no one was in there.”_

_“That’s for sure,” Tyrell said in a gravelly voice._

_“Cause they’d be super dead.”_

_“Mm-hm.”_

_And then they both laughed and left to go to Arby's for their lunch break.  
_

* * *

Alice’s eyes popped back open after imagining this.

_... m-maybe it would be a good idea to get up_ , she thought.


End file.
